


Happy Accidents (At Least That's What Stiles Insists It Is)

by Never_Says_Die



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, No Mary Sues Promise!, fandom cliche'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Never_Says_Die/pseuds/Never_Says_Die
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill in which Derek is an emotionally constipated idiot with a martyr complex, and Stiles is oblivious.  Werewolves don't just stick to lush forests in California and Stiles is kind of a magnet for trouble. </p><p>Also, humans can't be Alphas. But since when has Stiles ever listened to conventional wisdom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Logically, Stiles had known that life wasn't going to stay the same forever. That’s not the nature of things. You got older, you moved on, and the world kept moving right along with you. And all right…all things being equal, it was probably _good_ that life didn’t stay the same. Things had been a little rough for a while right after Scott got bitten, and by ‘things were a little rough,’ Stiles meant life had sucked like a two dollar hooker in a SoHo alley. Not that Stiles knew what two dollar hookers sucked like. Or regular hookers, for that matter. 

The point was, he’d known things wouldn’t stay the same. Knowing it in an abstract _Circle of Life_  kind of way, though, is quite a bit different from watching it actually happen. 

It creeps up on him, really. He supposes he can be excused for not noticing it, what with the way his life has pretty much revolved around keeping a pack of wayward werewolves (and one were-lizard, which, what the fuck?) one step ahead of disaster after disaster. Not that any of them really notice or seem to care that Stiles has pretty much turned himself into goddamn Rupert Giles with nothing more than an Amazon.com account and his mad Googling skills. 

He spends two days talking in a fake British accent just to see if any of them will pick up the reference, actually. And also, yes, he’s kind of hoping that they’ll start referring to him as their Watcher. He could totally start doing it himself, but cult-icon-inspired nicknames are no fun if you have to brand yourself with them. Scott just looks baffled and Lydia asks if he’s trying out for the school production of _My Fair Lady_. Then Derek growls at him a little more forcefully than usual when the two groups meet up for their weekly information exchange. As these meetings are already pretty fraught with tension and apparently no one is picking up on his awesome Buffy connection, he drops the accent. 

Life goes on. 

The Argents and their Hunter buddies circle in close on the trail of Werelizard-Jackson (which, seriously, what the actual fuck?) and Derek and Scott manage to come to some kind of accord that as long as the kanima is no longer killing random people, they can’t let the Hunters just execute Jackson. Stiles will never admit it out loud, but the three weeks or so of sheer, unadulterated terror Gerard Argent rains down on them actually turns out to be good for his best friend and the surly-ass Alpha. It gives them something to focus on besides their differences.

Derek actually manages to stop being such a raging _dick_ to everyone and everything, reminding Stiles more of the guy he’d been before he became the Alpha. Which is to say, he’s just kind of a _jerk_ to everyone and everything. Jerk Derek, Stiles can deal with. Jerk Derek, Stiles is ninety percent sure will not actually follow through on his many threats to rip out Stiles’ throat. In addition to Stiles being mostly sure that this Derek will not do them bodily harm (and will actually go out of his way to stop other people/Hunters/things from doing them harm), this Derek and Scott actually manage to work through most of their issues. 

So, it’s not entirely surprising that by the time the situation with the Argents has been resolved--with Chris Argent proving once again that he’s got some kind of honor and understands that a truce is always preferable to all out war with a pack of werewolves (and one were-lizard. Which, _seriously_ , what the _actual_ fuck?)—they’re less two groups thrown together by circumstances, and more…well…a pack. 

It’s nice. 

They all make their peace with one another. Sometimes, when the werewolves (and werelizard) are all collapsed together in a giant ball of exhaustion after one of Derek’s more sadistic drills, and he, Allison, and Lydia are laughing their asses off, Stiles even dares to think that they’re all friends. 

Sometimes, if Stiles just happens to turn his head at just the right moment, he catches Derek watching them all with an expression that says maybe Stiles is right when he thinks they’re all more than friends. 

Life goes on.

His dad sits him down at the start of senior year and hesitantly asks how Stiles feels about him dating again. Apparently, there’s a woman who works out of the county coroner’s office and she and his dad have really hit it off. And it…it hurts. Oh God, does it hurt. But Stiles is going to be going to college next year, and the thought of his dad all alone in their house hurts worse, so he sucks it up. Susan, as it turns out, is a really awesome woman who shares Stiles’ views on his dad’s diet and knows everything there is to know about Marvel comics. 

It also helps that Susan is a widow herself, her first husband having been a victim of a drunk driver ten years ago. When she tells Stiles she doesn’t want to try and replace his mother and just hopes they can come to care for each other in their own right, he believes her. And by the time Christmas rolls around, he can honestly say that they do. 

Life goes on. 

Senior year passes in a blur of aptitude tests, meetings with the school counselor, college applications, and the slow realization that holy shit, he’s staring down the barrel of the rest of his life and he has no idea what he wants to do with it. His dad starts making noises about college visits and trying to casually leave brochures out on Stiles’ bed. Another pack tries to muscle in on their territory, and Stiles spends a tense few weeks trying once again to keep a bunch of wayward werewolves (and one were-lizard. Which, _**seriously**_ , what the _**actual**_ fuck?) one step ahead of disaster. So, he thinks he can be forgiven for not noticing a few things.

Things like Scott finally coming into his own as a functional member of society (not that Stiles ever thought there was anything wrong with Scott, per se, just…dude needed to grow up a little) and Derek’s de facto second-in-command. Things like his phone ringing less and less for pack business unless it's a major, lives-on-the-line emergency. Things like Derek getting surlier and surlier with him at the pack meetings he does attend. 

It’s not until he hears Scott and Jackson talking about which schools they’ve applied to off of “Derek’s list” though, that Stiles finds himself catching a clue-by-four. Right in the face. 

Because as it turns out, all the pack members who will be graduating this year got a list from Derek. A list of schools within an acceptable radius of Beacon Hills that the pack had all gotten together and decided on a couple months ago. Even Allison and Lydia got one, and everyone knows Lydia is going to Harvard, or Yale, or MIT or something. They’re human, so it’s not like they need to stay close…but they still got the list. 

That. That hurts. 

It hurts a _lot_. 

Scott’s guilty flush, and the way none of the werewolves (not even Boyd, and he’s gotten closer to Boyd than anyone except Scott) will meet his eyes when he asks what’s going on just make it hurt worse. 

And okay…he always knew Derek didn’t think of him as part of the pack the way Scott, Jackson, Isaac and the others are. Hell, he knew he didn’t even rate as high as Allison and Lydia. But he had honestly thought he rated _somewhere_. He’s their Watcher! He’s totally their Giles, just younger and less British. 

Apparently he isn’t, though. 

Life goes on.

He stops going to the pack meetings altogether. Scott, Isaac, and Boyd (and, more surprisingly, Jackson and Erica) make some halfhearted protests, but they still won’t really look him in the eye when they do it. He’ll never admit it, but it kind of guts him to get that kind of behavior from Scott. Allison and Lydia are more sincere in their protests, but it’s not like they have any say in how Derek runs the pack. Lydia rolls her eyes when he points that out, and mutters something savage-sounding about Derek under her breath. She’s always muttering savage-sounding things, though, so he doesn’t really pay it any mind. 

He starts looking at all the brochures his dad has left scattered around the house, and for the first time he seriously considers not only leaving Beacon Hills, but leaving the state entirely. Most of his mother’s life insurance went to pay off hospital bills and some of the loan on the house, but his dad put part of it aside for Stiles to use for school. Added to the scholarships he’s eligible for as the child of a law enforcement officer, out-of-state schooling is a real possibility. It’s an option, for a lot of reasons…and yes, part of it is the idea of a clean break from the pack. 

He gets it. He does. They don’t need him anymore, if they ever did. That’s fine. Stiles can deal with it. There’s no crying in baseball and all that jazz. That doesn’t necessarily mean the idea of putting a few hundred (or thousand) miles of distance between him and the people he’d thought were family isn’t appealing. He applies to colleges all over the United States. He gets in to most of them. 

At least _some_ people appreciate his mad Watcher skills…they’ve certainly had a good effect on his GPA. 

The look of stunned pride and happiness on his dad’s face when he shoves the acceptance letter from Duke University across the dining room table and says he thinks that’s where he wants to go is almost worth the hurt behind the reasons he even applied. Almost. 

Life goes on. 

He tells Scott he’s going to school in North Carolina. The expression on his oldest friend’s face is…weird. For a moment, Scott looks like he’s got something really, _really_ important to say. The moment passes, though, and Scott claps him on the shoulder (only somewhat awkwardly) and tells him he’s happy for him. Lydia mutters something even more savage sounding than usual under her breath, and he swears he hears Derek’s name, but then she and Allison are getting a little teary and hugging him tightly, and he lets it go in favor of enjoying having two gorgeous girls plastered against him. Hey, they’re his friends and he totally respects them—and the fact that they could both wipe the floor with him without breaking a sweat—but he’s still a _guy_.

Finals and graduation and summer seem to fly by, and before he knows it he’s dividing his earthly possessions into boxes to be stored, donated to charity, or taken with him. His dad rents a small UHaul, and the night before they start off on their long-ass drive across the country, he and Susan surprise Stiles with a going away party. He suspects it’s more Allison and Lydia’s doing than anyone else’s, but it’s still a nice gesture. Scott and his mom show up, of course, as well as a few guys from the Lacrosse team, and some of the officers from the station (who have basically gotten roped into being honorary aunts and uncles over the years). 

The rest of the pack shows up, as well. 

Jackson, Boyd, Isaac, Erica…they all show up. 

There’s food, and music, and presents (really, really awesome presents), but the whole time, the pack’s just looking at him. Sticking as close as they possibly can to him and just watching him with expressions he can’t really put a name to. There’s something almost sad and desperate about them, like they can’t believe he’s actually _leaving_ …but that can’t be right. Werewolves (and werelizards.  Which, _**SERIOUSLY**_ , what the actual _**FUCK**_?). Fuck if he’ll ever understand them. 

*****

He and his dad pile into their rented truck, with a few boxes of Stiles’ things in the back and his baby on a trailer behind them. They stretch the trip out over six days, taking their time and some of the more scenic routes. Stiles suspects that it’s finally really hitting his dad that Stiles is going to be _on the other side of the country_ , and he’s trying to put it off as long as he can. It’s finally hitting _Stiles_ that he’s going to be on the other side of the country, though, so he doesn’t call his dad on it. 

He even suggests a couple of more scenic routes that stretch the trip out another day. 

They get there, though. They take a tour of the campus, and get Stiles’ room assignment. They haul his things up to his dorm and meet his roommate—a quiet-looking boy with brown hair and glasses who introduces himself as AJ Reese. AJ offers to help them get the last of Stiles’ boxes, but he’s moving a little stiffly, and when he rolls off the bed, Stiles notices a strip of gauze peeking out from under the hem of his t-shirt. Stiles declines politely, and AJ looks both apologetic and relieved as he flops back down on his mattress. 

Stiles supposes he can be forgiven for not immediately jumping to the correct conclusion. His dad starts _crying_ in the parking lot, for God’s sake, and by the time he extricates himself from the man’s embrace, he’s pretty wrecked, too. AJ smiles understandingly when he makes his way back to their room, eyes red and puffy, and makes up for not being able to help them haul boxes by knowing every single takeout joint that delivers to the campus. They decide to order pizza for lunch and get to know each other a little better…and within a couple of hours, Stiles knows they’re going to be friends. 

AJ is smart, and hilarious, and doesn’t even blink when Stiles’ trains of thought jump tracks and he starts yammering about a new topic. There’s something about him that kind of reminds Stiles of Scott—he’s got that same kind of sweet, boy-next-door vibe that Scott always managed to pull off. 

Stiles is forced to revise his opinion later that night, with the light of the full moon peeking in through the blinds on the windows. There’s something about AJ that reminds him of Scott, all right…but it’s definitely not the boy-next-door vibe. 

He’s actually kind of proud of how little his hands are shaking as he hits Derek’s number on his speed dial, staring in horror as his roommate writhes and spasms on the floor, crying out in terror and confusion. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, AJ had said he got mauled by a neighborhood _dog_ last week, and why the hell hadn’t that thrown up about a hundred red flags for Stiles? His heart is pounding a mile a minute as the call connects and starts ringing, praying to anyone who might be listening that Derek picks up. He’s not exactly sure what he’s expecting Derek to be able to _do_ ,  but he knows Derek’s his best chance of this not ending in bloodshed.

His bloodshed, more specifically.

He’s just met AJ. He’s _nothing_ to AJ…there’s no connection, no lifelong bond of friendship like there was with Scott. Hell, there was a lifelong bond of friendship with Scott and Scott still tried to kill him. There’s wolfsbane in a little pouch under his mattress—he’s not stupid, after all—but he doesn’t want to kill AJ. Not unless there’s no other choice. 

The call goes to voicemail. 

Stiles stares at his phone incredulously as the bland voice asks him to leave a message at the tone. What, does Derek think he’d be calling just to chat?

“You asshole!” he shouts into the phone, just as AJ wrenches himself to his knees and snarls. “You couldn’t fucking tell me there are fucking werewolves in North Carolina?! I swear to God, Derek, if I get eaten I am _haunting_ your ass!” 

He hits the end call button and hurls his phone across the room with an angry shout. All the times Derek has harped on them to keep their damn phones on, to always be in touch, and the one time, the one time Stiles needs to talk to him…

AJ crouches low on the floor, glowing amber eyes trained right on Stiles as his lips curl back from his fangs.

Oh. Oh, yeah. 

He swallows heavily, trying to remember everything that ever even remotely worked with Scott in those first few days, everything Derek taught him, Allison, and Lydia about not antagonizing an out-of-control wolf. AJ snarls again, muscles bunching as though he’s about to leap.

“Oh, fuck my life,” Stiles sighs. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeaaaahhhh...sorry about the massive wait in between chapters of this. I don't honestly know what happened :(
> 
> Also, yeah, this is just Jossed all to hell, so I'm planting it firmly in alternate reality and going about on my merry way. Jackson is still a werelizard, Peter was never resurrected, and the Alpha pack never happened. Okay? Okay. All right? All right. Okay.

AJ crouches, still snarling and growling dangerously, and Stiles is struck by the completely insane desire to just burst out laughing. 

If he’s perfectly honest with himself, he’s kind of been expecting to die young and most likely at the hands (claws) of something supernatural ever since that night his best friend came at him with dripping fangs. He just never thought it’d be like _this_ …that after he’s survived werewolves, and psychotic Alphas, and psychotic-er Hunters, and werelizards, and fucking _high school_ , he’s going to be killed by a guy he just met who has no idea what he’s doing. 

He’s going to die all alone, not even bravely sacrificing himself for the good of his friends. He’s going to die and _God_ , his dad is probably going to get the call just as his plane is landing back in California. His dad is going to have to turn right around and fly back to North Carolina to claim his body (what’s left of it) and it’ll kill him, it’ll absolutely kill him and…

And…you know what? No. No, fuck that. _Fuck_ that. He’s not going down like this. 

“AJ,” he says softly, keeping his voice low, but firm. “AJ, buddy, dude, I know you’re still in there. I know you’re scared, all right? But I know what’s happening, here, and I can help. I can help you, but you’ve gotta not rip me to shreds, okay?” He steels himself, taking a deep, slow breath, and shuffles a half-step towards his mattress. 

AJ tenses, still growling. A low, threatening rumble in his chest…but he doesn’t lunge. He’s coiled, tense, amber eyes zeroed on Stiles like a heat-seeking missile, but he’s still crouching in the corner by his own bed. Stiles narrows his eyes as he sees AJ’s nostrils flare, hears him taking deep, curious breaths. Whatever it is he’s smelling, it’s making him hesitate, making him dig into his little corner rather than leap at Stiles with fangs and claws. Stiles breathes again and risks another few steps towards his bed. The pouch of powdered wolfsbane is almost within reach.

“Okay, this is good…nice werewolf, good werewolf, just pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. I promise, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure out where your Alpha is, and what the hell is going on and it’s all gonna be okay.” AJ sniffs again, his eyes darting around to the bags and boxes of Stiles’ belongings strewn around his bed. The pack, Stiles realizes with a start. AJ must be picking up on the scents of the pack still lingering on Stiles’ clothes…he knows from experience that it’s going to take more than a couple of launderings for the scent to fade entirely. 

Maybe AJ is even smelling Derek.

He ignores the pang in his chest at the thought of his friends, the people he’d _thought_ were so much more than friends, and just thanks whatever deity is listening that there’s enough of them still remaining on Stiles’ things that AJ’s brand-new instincts are apparently warning him about attacking prey that smells of other wolves. Another step and he is level with his mattress. Slowly, slowly, he slides his hand slips between the mattress and box spring, fingers searching for the little cloth pouch he’d taken to carrying on his person at all times (a Ziploc would have been easier to deal with, but it seemed to him that keeping baggies of unidentified powdered substances around was just asking for trouble). 

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve got a whole posse of wolves that will totally kick your ass if you eat me, so let’s just chill out and get through this.” 

It hurts. It hurts to say that, because he still hasn’t really had time to process that it’s apparently not _true_ , that he’s been summarily exiled from the pack and he doesn’t even really know _why_ …but he can’t dwell on that, now. His fingers close on the smooth, cool cloth and he draws it out slowly, wiggling two fingers into the mouth of the pouch to open it. AJ growls warningly.

Fuck his life.

“Okay. Okay, dude, I seriously promise that I will help you get through this. I got Scott through it and I didn’t even really know what I was doing back then, okay? And anything I can’t explain, I know people who _can_ , so it’s all gonna be fine.” One more deep breath, and he lets his eyes slide around ‘til he finds the bag he’s going to need, tracks its position and calculates about how long he’s going to have to get to it. “It’s gonna be fine…but not gonna lie, next few hours are kind of going to suck for you. I’ll let you punch me tomorrow morning, if you want.” 

He spares one final moment to wonder, yet again, just how is this his life? Then he scoops a scant handful of the wolfsbane out of the pouch and darts forward in the same motion. AJ roars at him, coils to spring, and Stiles flings the wolfsbane at his roommate. It diffuses through the air, a faint glimmer of purple in the moonlight, and AJ reels back as he gets a face full of it. The reaction is instantaneous and AJ yowls, clawing at his face and his eyes as he wheezes and yelps in pain. 

Stiles doesn’t hesitate, just throws himself to his knees in front of the bag he wants, yanking at the zipper on the side. AJ hits the ground behind him, still coughing and choking on the powder, but it’s not going to last for long. Stiles hadn’t had time to try and calculate what would be enough of a dose to incapacitate AJ totally, and he’s not going to risk killing his roommate on their first night together.

A murder charge is not how he envisioned starting his college experience. 

Though, given the way his life has been going the past few years, he probably should have expected that to be a possibility. 

Then it doesn’t matter anyway, because he manages to get the zipper open and his hand is wrapping around the smooth plastic casing of Allison’s going-away gift to him. He whirls around as he hears AJ start clambering to his knees, still swiping at his eyes and nose, but no longer choking so harshly. His jaw sets firmly as he thumbs the safety off on the taser Allison had gifted him with.

The hunter-approved, _werewolf-strength_ taser.

“I really am sorry about this.” He fires at point-blank range, the muffled whump of the two pointed studs firing through the air sounding incredibly loud in the room. They hit AJ directly in the chest and he instantly starts convulsing as however-many thousand volts are delivered. Stiles keeps the trigger down ruthlessly, until AJ collapses forward, still shaking violently. He doesn’t let up until AJ goes still, until the high, miserable whine of pain in the back of his throat stutters to a halt and dies off. Then and only then does he let go, let himself sink down onto his haunches and scrub shaking hands back and forth over his scalp. His breathing is harsh and loud in the sudden quiet of the room, and he licks his dry lips over and over until the racing of his heart calms somewhat. 

He looks down at AJ’s crumpled body, still wolfed-out and twitching occasionally as aftershocks wrack through him. His eyes dart around the room, searching for anything sturdy enough to handcuff his roommate to, to immobilize him. There’s nothing but the cheap, wooden bed frames, though. There’s a small sink in one corner of the room, but a look underneath it reveals cheap plastic pipes--and goddamn it, with what Duke’s charging for tuition, they should be able to afford decent building materials in their dorms. Their floor is still pretty empty (that or he and AJ are going to have to deal with _quite_ the reputation for the rest of the semester), but he’s not about to risk dragging an unconscious werewolf down the hallways looking for a maintenance closet or something. He sighs heavily as he retracts the bolts into the taser and stands up.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long night,” he mutters, nudging AJ’s limp arm with the toe of one sneaker. 

Seriously, fuck his life.

*

He ends up having to tase his roommate three more times throughout the night

He switches out the cartridge in the taser, and then hefts AJ up onto his bed, arranging him as comfortably as he can. Then he digs a pair of handcuffs out of the same bag he had the taser in and cuffing him to the bed frame. It won’t buy him more than a few seconds, but when dealing with werewolves, a few seconds can be life-saving. He settles on his own mattress, leaning back against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest, and spares a moment to chuckle darkly at the fact that his ‘go bag’ contains things like handcuffs, tasers, and wolfsbane. 

By the third time AJ slumps back down onto the mattress, Stiles is exhausted. His eyes are burning and feel gritty when he rubs them, and he just wants to lie down and sleep for a week or two. He doesn’t start relaxing, though, until the moon finally starts to set and the sky outside their window starts to go gray with early dawn light. He slouches against the wall behind his back, setting the taser aside for the first time all night. He lets out a shaky breath and screws the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough that little bursts of color paint their way across his eyelids. 

Seriously, fuck his _life_.

He props one elbow up on his bent knees, cradling his head in the palm of one hand and watching with tired, detached interest as AJ’s features finally start shifting back to human. By the time the sun has fully risen, AJ is stirring faintly on his bed. Stiles slithers off his own bed, standing and stretching until his spine cracks as AJ tries to roll over onto his stomach. His roommate freezes when the cuffs pull tight against his wrists, preventing the motion, and Stiles immediately starts digging the key out of his jeans pocket. 

“Look, rule one, you need to not panic, dude. I’m totally not one of those crazy, horror-movie roommates…but, uh, it kind of looks like _you_ are. Now, I’m gonna unlock you and we need to have a nice, calm—“

AJ starts thrashing on the bed, yanking at the handcuffs with increasing desperation and…and yep, there go those eyes again. The amber light flares in AJ’s irises, and his bared teeth start lengthening, and Stiles sighs heavily again, turning back to snatch up the taser. “Right, okay, yeah…should’ve taken the cuffs off before you woke up. My bad, dude.” The bed frame at AJ’s head starts to creak and crack as he pulls against it. 

Stiles tries to smile reassuringly as he depresses the taser’s trigger for a fourth time. He gets the distinct feeling that AJ is not reassured. 

_Seriously_ , fuck his _life_.

Things go a little better when AJ wakes up for a second time. Stiles preemptively removes the handcuffs and makes sure he’s seated on the opposite side of the room from AJ. With the taser and the wolfsbane tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, of course. He’s not stupid. This time, AJ jackknifes into a sitting position pretty much as soon as he regains consciousness. He whirls on Stiles wildly, scrambling up so he’s crouching on the mattress, hunched back against the wall. Stiles raises his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. 

“What…what do you want?” AJ gasps, cowering back from Stiles like _he’s_ the threat in this room. Stiles smiles at him, a little sadly. 

“Well…right now, I want to get some breakfast. And since I kind of spent all night electrocuting your ass, I’m buying.” AJ just stares at him, mouth working soundlessly for a few moments. Then he presses one shaking hand to his head. Stiles presses his lips together, eyes narrowing slightly. “Look, you want to call security, call security…but before you do, let me tell you a little something about the past few days. Your senses are going nuts—you can hear things, smell things, see things that you _know_ you shouldn’t be able to. You might not even need those glasses anymore, but I’m not sure how the change affects things like eyesight. You’re stronger and faster than you’ve ever been, and that bandage on your side is probably just for show at this point, ‘cause you saw it healing _way_ too fast and you’re too afraid to look. Stop me when I get too far off base.” He raises a challenging eyebrow, but AJ has been growing paler and paler as he talks. 

“You…you know…holy fuck, what’s _happening_ to me?” AJ’s voice breaks a little on the question, and Stiles can feel his shoulders slumping. 

It would seem that even if the pack doesn’t want him anymore, the supernatural world in general isn’t so willing to let him go. 

“I promise I’ll answer your questions—but yeah, if I’m not getting any sleep in the near future, I’m damn well getting food.” 

AJ nods hesitantly, confusion and fear warring with a cautious sort of hope in his dark eyes. He slowly makes his way off his bed, his eyes not leaving Stiles for a single moment…but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to be getting all furry again anytime soon. Stiles counts that as a win. 

While AJ is changing into fresh clothes, Stiles puts the wolfsbane away—but he keeps the taser handy. Just in case. He grabs his wallet up from where he’d dropped it on the desk the night before, automatically patting his pockets for his phone…

His phone. Oh…oh shit. 

His eyes go wide, and he dives across to AJ’s side of the room, where he’d tossed the thing the night before, ignoring AJ’s startled yelp. He scrabbles under a pile of random clothes and books until he finds it, snatching it up and swiping his thumb across the screen. He’d had it on silent while he’d been talking to AJ the night before. 

There are fifty-seven missed calls.  
Twenty-five new text messages.

And his voicemail box is full. 

And seriously, **fuck** his **life**.


	3. Chapter 3

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Stiles hisses, scrolling through his text screen. Scott. Lydia. Allison. Even Isaac and Erica left messages. Asking Stiles what was going on. Telling him to call them. The texts get increasingly worried and desperate as they go, _begging_ Stiles to call them, to tell them what’s happening, asking if he’s okay. He doesn’t even have to listen to the voicemails. 

“What’s, uh, what’s wrong?” AJ asks hesitantly, biting his lip and twisting his hands nervously in the hem of his t-shirt. 

Stiles makes a conscious effort to calm his suddenly racing heartbeat, to take a deep breath, to settle. He forces his hands to steady as he pulls up his contacts screen and stabs at Scott’s icon, raking his other hand back over his hair. Derek must have listened to his message and called the rest of the pack. Later, he might let himself be a little comforted by the fact that even if they don’t want him _in_ the pack anymore, they at least care enough to be worried for him. 

Right now, however, he needs to defuse the situation back home before something gets to his dad. He needs to take AJ somewhere and explain the werewolf situation, figure out how and why he was bitten in the first place…possibly try to track down AJ’s Alpha. And he only has three days until classes start. 

Goddamn it. 

“I may or may not have let some people back home know you were trying to eat me and then dropped out of contact for ten hours,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Just…just let me talk to them and then I’ll explain everything, okay?” He glances over at his roommate, and his heart aches a little at the way AJ just sinks down onto the bed, drawing his knees up to his chest and watching Stiles with eyes that are full of a strange mix of fear and hope. 

He can’t imagine going through what AJ is going through all alone—having to depend on a perfect stranger for any kind of information or answers. The other boy is obviously frightened, still clearly mistrustful of Stiles (and hey, Stiles can’t exactly blame him, what with the taser and the handcuffs and all). He tries to smile at his roommate reassuringly as the phone starts ringing in his ear, and AJ returns it shakily. The call connects, and rings only once before Scott answers.

“ _Stiles?!_ ” Stiles winces at Scott’s voice—panicked and high, nearly breathless on the other end of the line. “ _Stiles, are you okay? What happened? Where are you? Are you all right?!_ ” There is a muffled commotion from somewhere near Scott, thumps and crashes, a few stifled shouts. 

“ _Is it him?_ ”

“ _What’s happening?_ ” 

“ _Is he okay?_ ” 

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, drawing in a deep breath. “Dude, it’s okay…everything’s fine,” he says. AJ sits up a little straighter on his bed, pulling his knees tighter against his chest and not even bothering to pretend he’s not listening. 

“ _What do you mean, everything’s fine? Derek said he heard another werewolf on the phone!_ ” There is another crash of noise, the distinctive sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Stiles winces again when Scott suddenly groans in pain. There is the roar of dead air in his ear for a moment, and then—

“ _Stiles?_ ” Lydia’a voice is cool and calm as ever, but Stiles knows her now, can hear the thread of fear under her words. “ _We’re on our way…the only direct flights we could find into Raleigh all leave from LAX this afternoon, but we’re coming, okay?_ ” He smiles a little, warmth flooding him at the blatant concern. 

“I’m fine, Lyds. It’s all right; you can call off the Defcon 5.” On the other end of the line, Lydia inhales sharply. “I’m sorry I didn’t call back right away…it was a long night. But I promise, everything’s fine now.” 

“ _What happened_?” Lydia bites out. “ _I heard your message…that was another werewolf and it had to be less than ten feet away from you!_ ” 

He hedges another look at AJ, who is just staring at him, mouth set in a thin line. His shoulders are hunched over defensively, and even without werewolf senses, Stiles feels like he can smell the panic starting to waft off his roommate. He licks his lips a little, silently weighing how much detail to go into over the phone. He doesn’t know how AJ is going to react to all this, and he doesn’t want to spook him and break the all-too-fragile trust between them by immediately bringing the entire pack down on them. 

Besides, Derek is…better…at the whole Alpha thing these days, but he can still be pretty overwhelming. And demanding. And violent. 

Just—goddamn it.

AJ’s eyes widen fractionally, pleading and starting to grow a little wet and glassy at the corners. Mutely, the other boy shakes his head, pulling himself into as small a ball as possible on his bed. Terrified. He’s terrified and he’s taking a risk by trusting Stiles. Stiles can’t betray that…not while AJ is this unstable. 

“I don’t really know,” he says quietly. “It just came out of nowhere…but it didn’t attack me right away. I had that taser Allison gave me and managed to get it out. Shocked him and spent the night cowering in my dorm room.”

All perfectly true without giving away any details AJ isn’t ready for anyone to hear yet. Sometimes he hates how adept he’s become at evasions and half-truths. He hears a chorus of murmured concern close to Lydia and closes his eyes briefly at the reminder that they _do_ care about him, that they don’t want anything to happen to him. 

They just don’t want him as part of the pack. 

He swallows reflexively against the bitter reminder, his fingers tightening briefly on the casing of the phone. He turns to face AJ, finding the boy still staring at him. This time, though, there is a tinge of relief on his features, and he relaxes slightly from his hunched position. 

“ _And you’re sure you’re not hurt? We don’t need to come out there?_ ” There’s something strange in Lydia’s voice, something a little distant, as though part of her attention has suddenly focused elsewhere. He sighs softly. 

“I’m all right. I promise, okay? No one needs to come out here.” At least not yet, not until Stiles has determined just how AJ ended up a werewolf without any idea of what was happening. It sets alarm bells off in his head, smacking a little too closely of what had happened to Scott…but he doesn’t want to bring the pack in unless it’s really necessary.

It hurts too much right now.

And seriously…goddamn it. 

“ _Derek says it was probably a new bitten wolf who got out accidentally, or a college student who couldn’t handle the first full moon away from his pack. He said to just stay inside for the next few nights and let the local packs handle it…there’s no way they don’t know._ ” The strange tone doesn’t lessen in Lydia’s voice, and Stiles is struck with the feeling that she wants to say something else, something more. He shakes the thought out of his head, though. He’s got enough to worry about. 

“Will do. I’ll text you later, okay?” On the other end of the line, Lydia scoffs. 

“ _You damn well better Skype me tonight, as soon as you get your dorm unpacked,_ ” she says.

Stiles smiles softly. “Will do. Tell Scott I’ll be on by seven.” He says his goodbyes and ends the call, blowing out a gusty breath and rolling his neck until it cracks. 

“You…you weren’t kidding,” AJ says after a moment. “I’m…I’m turning into a _werewolf_?” His voice breaks on the last word, his breathing starting to speed up. “And—and you know other werewolves?” 

“Hey, hey, hey…dude, you need to stay calm right now. You’ve got at least another night to get through before the moon stops affecting you as bad, and your control is for _shit_ right now. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, okay? I went through this with my best friend in high school, and everything turned out okay. Eventually. But there were some pretty extenuating circumstances. Point is, I’m about as close to an expert in Werewolf 101 as you’re going to get, and we’ll get you through this. Honest.” He pastes what he hopes is a trustworthy smile on his face, and is rewarded when AJ licks his lips and nods hesitantly, the set of his shoulders relaxing slightly. 

“O-okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, I trust you. Just—can you not tell anyone, please? Not even your friends. I just…I need to get my head around this. Please?” He sounds miserable; miserable and afraid and Stiles can’t do anything but nod reassuringly. After a moment, he gives into impulse and lays his hand on AJ’s shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“I promise. I won’t tell them anything you don’t want me to. Now…let’s go get some breakfast, and see if we can figure out what the hell happened.” 

He offers AJ an unnecessary hand off the bed, watching as AJ automatically reaches for the glasses Stiles had rescued off the floor and put on his nightstand the night before. His roommate hesitates, though, sighing audibly and leaving the glasses where they sit. Stiles lets AJ lead the way out of their dorm room and tries to dismiss the feeling trying to creep up his spine that there is no way in hell this is going to be an easy situation to resolve. 

And _seriously_ , goddamn it.

*

They leave the campus entirely, piling into Stiles’ jeep and wending their way through the streets at AJ’s direction until they come to a small, out-of-the-way diner. Stiles waits until they are ensconced in one of the booths in back, and their orders have arrived—oatmeal and a fruit cup for AJ (and whoa boy, are they going to have to have a chat about werewolf metabolism and the need for protein) and a veritable mountain of chocolate chip pancakes for Stiles—to start questioning the other boy. 

“It happened five days ago,” AJ mutters, staring down into his bowl of oatmeal as though it holds the secrets of the universe. “There was a block party going on in one of the neighborhoods where a lot of the off-campus student housing is. I thought it’d be a good idea to explore a little, maybe meet some new people before I moved into the dorms. I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life, but I never really got down into the campus social scene, you know?” 

Stiles nods encouragingly around a giant mouthful of pancakes and whipped cream. AJ glances up at him briefly, only to stare in horrified fascination…but Stiles is pretty used to getting looks like that when he’s eating. 

“Anyway,” AJ says slowly, “I left the party around midnight, just started walking home. I mean, I like a good party and everything, but it was starting to get a little rowdy for my tastes, y’know? I didn’t want to be around when the cops got called in.” He takes a small bite of the oatmeal, grimacing a little as he realizes exactly how much sugar he’s dumped into it. 

Stiles huffs out a little snort of laughter, and nudges the side plate of bacon strips at his elbow a little closer to AJ’s side of the table. AJ resists for all of ten seconds before swiping a couple of the strips with a grateful half-smile. He crunches on it for a few moments, staring off at a point somewhere over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles gives him a moment to collect himself, draining his glass of orange juice in a few long swallows.

“It just…it came out of _nowhere_. One minute I was walking along the sidewalk, the next something fucking tackled me. It—it was _huge_ man.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Too big to be a dog,” he admits quietly. “I knew it was too big to be a dog, but I couldn’t think what else it would be. It bit me…right on the side, and I thought it was gonna rip me apart. But—but then it was just _gone_ , and I was…I’d been drinking, and all I could think was my mom was gonna drag me to the hospital, and she’d be so disappointed if she knew I was drunk.” AJ pauses to laugh, a hysterical edge to it that has Stiles glancing up at him sharply. “I thought I’d just go home and bandage it up and have my brother take me to the ER once I’d sobered up. Get rabies shots or something.”

“But when you checked the next morning, it was gone or close to it, right?” Stiles asks gently. AJ nods, silent and small-looking, so different from the way the others in the pack had been after they’d received the bite. So different from Scott had been in those first few days. 

“It was almost healed,” the other boy says. “And I just—I flipped. Wrapped it back up, and I just couldn’t make myself look at it. Then all these things started happening. My eyes and my hearing and…well, you know the rest.” AJ trails off helplessly, and Stiles nods sagely, his mind racing. 

This is not good. Not good at all. 

He’d known that Derek’s theories about AJ being a newly bitten wolf who escaped his restraints or a born wolf who hadn’t anticipated how hard a full moon could be away from his pack were wrong. AJ had been too frightened, too confused…and even though he’s barely known the boy for twenty four hours, he can already tell that AJ would _never_ put Stiles or anyone else in that kind of danger. He’d been hoping there was some other explanation—

Anything other than an apparently rogue Alpha running around turning innocent people. 

And _seriously_ …just _goddamn_ it!

It’s Peter Hale all over again, and Stiles tries mightily to repress an instinctive shudder at the thought, not wanting to upset AJ. He doesn’t like this… _maybe_ AJ’s Alpha had a reason for turning him, but Stiles isn’t naïve enough to think it was anything good. He pushes his half-finished pancakes away, his appetite suddenly gone. 

“So…so what do I do? Like, is there a way to reverse it?” AJ’s voice draws him out of his rapidly spinning thoughts, and he looks up to find an expression of naked hope on his roommate’s face. And he hates to crush that hope; he hates it so much…but he’s not going to lie to the other boy. Slowly, he shakes his head, swallowing roughly when AJ seems to crumple right in front of him. AJ fists his hands on the tabletop, his breathing going harsh and fast. After a moment, Stiles reaches across the table and lays a hand on AJ’s forearm. 

“You can control it, though. I can help you learn—and I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone until you _get_ control. I’ll help you, man. It’s going to be all right.” He tries to project as much faith and solidity as he can in his voice, tries to give AJ something concrete to hang onto. After a few moments, AJ nods shakily, seeming to get himself back under control. 

“All—all right,” he says, straightening a little in his seat. “What do we have to do?” 

Stiles purses his lips thoughtfully, mentally running through a tally of supplies he has in the various boxes and bags in the dorm room. He sure as hell doesn’t want to spend another night electrocuting his roommate into oblivion. There’s a few things he can use, but the _most_ useful thing in the world of werewolf restraint is something he’s, unfortunately, short of. 

He’s weighing the likelihood of there being anywhere he can procure some Mountain Ash in a hurry around here, when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out, glancing at the screen as he tries to remember if there are any New Age or pagan supply shops around the campus (and what is his life that he actually looked that up when he was researching Duke?). His brow furrows as he sees a text from Scott pop up, closely followed by one from Allison. He scans through the messages quickly, his heart starting to pound in his chest. 

And **seriously** …god- _fucking_ -damn it!


End file.
